1 The Eighteenth Birthday

They say that life really starts after high school. Cameron was looking forward to it, his time in the halls of Oakwood High coming to an end. As he left the school, following the swarm of people oozing out the single double doors that marked the entrance of the building, he breathed in the dirty city air. It was a far cry from the farm his parents had raised him on, and it was still vaguely unpleasant, even after seven years.

That said, there was one thing that the city did better than anything else: food. Cameron made his usual detour, stopping by an unassuming silver food cart. It was always the same: hotdogs with a ridiculous amount of mustard. "You ever think about maybe cleaning up that bed-head?" Carl, the hotdog guy, asked.

Cameron ran his fingers through his hair. "Carl, I don't think any amount of combing would fix this," he sighed. And while the combing would fix the tangles that made his head look like a jungle, it wouldn't fix its snow-white color. It wasn't worth the effort to make it look presentable if it still looked absolutely freaky.

"Aw, come on kid. I think it's pretty cool," Carl slapped him on the back, deftly handing him the hotdog at the same time. Nodding in anticipation, Cameron paid the man.

"Thanks, Carl. Maybe one of these days I'll give it a try."

"I'll give you one on the house when you do!" Carl shouted after him, bringing a smile to Cameron's face. Maybe cleaning it up wouldn't be such a terrible thing after all. Tomorrow was his birthday… it would be a good thing to look presentable for his aunt and uncle. Not that they'd be home until late in the day, but maybe there'd be time for dinner.

Cameron danced the rest of the way home, literally. It was a test of his below-average balance not to fall after being jostled around by the mid-afternoon crowds. Cameron cursed as one particularly large woman absolutely collided with him, sending him to the ground. Where in the world were all these adults coming from? Didn't they have work or something better to do than walk around?

Picking himself back up, he slung his oversized backpack over his shoulder and trudged home. His place was pretty small, a two-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and living room. It was standard for the city, and his own space was cluttered with books, papers, and overdue assignments. He'd need to turn those in, soon. There wasn't much time left in the year, and he needed to graduate. There was no chance he was repeating the grade; high school kids were brutal, and they'd tease him about his hair once again. Though he'd grown accustomed to it – his emotions numbed – it wasn't something he'd voluntarily subject himself to.

Plopping his backpack down in an unoccupied corner of the room, Cameron stumbled to his bed, collapsing on top of it as soon as he made it there. The sheets beckoned, and with a final thought of "I'll do the homework later," Cameron fell into the deepest sleep he'd ever had.

******

Countless lifetimes flashed in front of his eyes. First, he served as a village healer, setting bones with remarkable skill, creating rough splints from the sticks the people had gathered him. He wore nothing but rags, and his hut was small and rugged. There were no niceties, nothing that hinted at the smallest bit of luxury.

Then he blinked, and his scenery changed. No longer did he stand in a hut, but in a chamber fit for a king. Gilded pillars held up the room, and the silken clothes he wore must have cost a fortune. Here, he placed his hands upon the shoulders of an elderly man, one who looked as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. A laurel crown rested lazily on his brow, a contrast to the stern face of the man. And yet, as if his hands were the human equivalent of batteries, the man's eyes glinted with youth once more. Cameron smiled at the thought. He blinked again.

He was trapped in a dark place, and unrecognizable screams filled the air. It was a terrible place, the scent of fecal matter and blood permeating the air. Cameron tried to look around, but he found he couldn't. His neck was strapped to the wall, trapping him. As his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he saw a figure in front of him, approaching him with a knife. When the knife stabbed into him, he realized something: those unrecognizable screams were his own.

******

Cameron woke up in a cold sweat. His heart was racing a million miles a minute, and it showed no signs of slowing down. He took deep breaths, hoping those mindfulness lessons his history teacher decided to teach the class that one week in sophomore year would actually work. They didn't.

He needed to wake up and clear his mind. Splashing water on his face was a tried-and-true classic. Stumbling out of bed with as much grace as he had stumbled into it with in the first place, Cameron shuffled to the bathroom. There was no light in the apartment; his aunt and uncle weren't home, then. What was new?

Okay. That was new. Turning on the lights in the bathroom revealed an unfamiliar visage. His face remained the same, but his eyes… where they had once been ice-blue, they were now imperial purple, an inhuman eye color. Cameron stumbled backwards, shocked. And yet, that was only the beginning.

As he watched himself in the mirror, something hazy blurred into existence in front of him. Cameron's eyes bugged out. He tried running his arms through it, but it simply reappeared after his arm bisected what now resembled a video game stat-sheet.

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Cameron Johnson

*Heir of the Caladrius*

Ability Points: 0

Physical: 3

Mastery: 0

Wisdom: 6

Abilities: Heal (I)

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What was happening to him?